Worth
by Pearl127
Summary: Glinda and Elphaba on the road to the Emerald City. GlindaElphie frienship only. [Bookverse]


Glinda stood anxiously by the window of their rented room. She didn't dare draw back the drapes but peeled back the tiniest bit of the edge, leaving a sliver of moonlight trailing along the ground and allowing her to see clearly into the street below.

This was the third night in a row that she'd found herself in such a position, with several other scattered occurrences before that back at Shiz. The past two nights, she'd woken cold and found herself quite alone in a tiny room, bathed in a heavy silence that was broken only by bouts of indistinguishable yelling from somewhere below. And, of course, next to the fear for herself was the even more helpless and panicked fear for her inexplicably absent companion.

The first night, she'd woken with a start and a sudden dread. She instinctively rolled over, searching blindly for the comforting arms to which she had turned for consolation more and more often of late. But this time she found only a shallow indentation in the mattress, still faintly warm.

"Elphie?" Glinda sat up and scanned the room as best she could in the dim light, expecting to find the girl curled up on a hard wooden chair with a book and a candle or pacing by the window, deep in worried thought. But she found neither. Instead, the room was startlingly empty, and Glinda felt the abandonment so strongly, it was almost tangible.

And so she had burrowed back under the covers, too frightened to do anything other than wait for Elphaba's return or morning, whichever came first. She had stayed there for what must have been well over an hour – though she could never be quite sure – until the door squeaked open. First, a strip of light along the jam and a pause so long that her stomach dropped in panic, and she was sure that whoever was admitting himself to their cramped closet of a room would be less than welcome. But familiar green fingers curled around the door frame and pushed it slowly open, admitting a shadowy figure in a trademark hat.

"Elphie?" she squeaked out again, despite the obvious.

"Glinda? Are you still awake?" came the reply from somewhere in the dark, "I thought you'd be long asleep."

Glinda found the casualness of such a response entirely maddening. "Sweet Oz, Elphie, where have you been? I was so scared…"

The mattress was sinking beside her and slender fingers found hers under the blanket. "Glinda you know I would never just _leave_ you, don't you? I was just out getting some air, just thinking." This was that motherly, almost superior tone that Elphaba adopted at times when she wanted to make a point. Though it almost pretended to be comforting, it still said "Glinda, you silly girl" without even saying it, and could get the usually talkative blonde to silence herself instantly.

Yet Glinda inched closer all the same. And Elphaba, for all her sarcasm, silenced herself as well and drew her friend into her arms because she knew when talking wasn't worthwhile with Glinda anymore. It was ironic really, that the girl who spent all of her time talking and gossiping couldn't communicate anything worthwhile with words. The hollow, obligatory nature of Elphaba's excuses meant nothing to her now that she had been assured that she was safe, an unspoken agreement sealed with a quiet kiss to her forehead.

But the next night, Elphaba was gone again. And Glinda had waited just the same, huddled under the covers for her friend's return. The sting of the abandonment was stronger this time when coupled with a broken promise, and she began to wonder how much of a habit Elphie had made of this without her knowledge even back at school. Upon her return, Elphaba had provided the same artificial excuses, begging forgiveness with a comforting hug, and Glinda had accepted it, having forgotten her hurt in the midst of relief.

And now, here she was again on the third night. Waiting still.

It was worse tonight than before. None of the places they'd stayed had been anywhere near her usual standards, but this neighborhood was even more seedy than the rest. From her vantage point, she could see several shady-looking figures, cloaked and scurrying from shadow to shadow under the eves of the buildings. To think that Elphie was out there among them and had left her all alone to be found by them!

It was only her terror at the present circumstances that had drawn her out of bed this time and over to the window. This way, at the very least, she might have some vague idea of who entered the inn, even though she was fairly sure there was a back entrance somewhere that was hidden from her view.

When the door creaked open sometime later, Glinda resisted the urge to duck under the small wooden table and hide. Instead, she spun around in the direction of the entrance and felt a swell of relief, anger, and betrayal all at once when she easily recognized the silhouette in the doorway.

"Good God, Elphie. Where have you _been? _ And don't give me those contrived excuses. I want to _know." _

"Glinda, I told you yesterday, I -" There was that tone again, but Elphaba trailed off, taken aback by her friend's sudden outburst. She reached a tentative hand out to rest on Glinda's shoulder and felt the full sting of her friend's anger when the blonde shrugged away and fixed her with a withering glare.

"Elphie – think about it. What if you didn't come back?"

"I'll always come back."

"No, I don't just mean here, tonight."

Elphaba squinted through the darkness, trying to better discern Glinda's facial expression. "I'm not sure I understand."

"What I mean is, you wouldn't be the first not to come back. Other friends…"

"Just because Pfannee and Shenshen have gone behind your back on some things – you know I would never do that.

"Oh, Elphie, you think that's what this is about?" she exhaled softly, nearly a chuckle, "I hope you think I could handle _them."_

Elphaba didn't ask for elaboration. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her. Glinda accepted the invitation gratefully, settling her head onto Elphaba's shoulder with one green arm wrapped protectively around her. A long, almost comfortable silence followed in which Elphaba began to wonder if Glinda was dropping the subject all together. When she did continue, her voice was small and almost inaudible.

"I had one other close friend like you, a long time ago."

For the sake of her friend, Elphaba fought back a swell of jealousy. "Tell me about her."

Glinda swallowed and suddenly looked very young and vulnerable in the moonlight. "She was older than me by several years, the big sister I never had. I was eleven or twelve, I think, and she was probably nearly eighteen then, but she seemed so much bigger than we are now." She smiled wistfully, "She was all I wanted to be when I grew up."

Not knowing quite what to do with this new piece of information, Elphaba just squeezed her hand. "What happened?"

Glinda let out a hint of a mirthless laugh, shaking her head, "I don't even know. One day, she was gone. They – my parents – they told me she'd done something bad, and now she wasn't allowed to see me for a while. That's all I knew." Her voice had been so remarkably stoic throughout the exchange that it wasn't until she turned to look at Elphaba for a response that it was even apparent she was crying.

"I saw her around a few times, but it wasn't the same. I was so excited to see her, but I hardly think the feeling was mutual. I realize now that she was just embarrassed. Whatever it was she'd done, she thought I wouldn't like her anymore. As if that mattered to me! I just wanted her back.

"But she couldn't even handle that much contact. She moved away, and she didn't even tell me. I had to hear through someone else two months after she'd gone. My parents weren't even angry with her anymore by that time – she could have come back! But I wasn't worth it, Elphie. I wasn't worth it to her."

Elphaba had encountered a few of these earnest, candid moments with Glinda since their friendship had started, and they always left her speechless, shocked at the depth and complexity behind the painted face. "Glinda, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." The phrase felt hollow and generic before it even left her lips, and Elphaba cringed internally at her inadequacy.

Glinda, however, seemed not to notice, and repeated again: "I can't believe I wasn't worth it to her."

"You're worth it to me," Elphaba said, almost too quickly, reflexively.

"Am I?" There was a bite in the question that Glinda had not intended and could not suppress. "Promise me, Elphaba. Can you promise me?"

And her silence spoke more than words ever could.


End file.
